A couple of years ago, Samantha Scott said she was longing for a spot of winter sun in Cape Verde.
Considering the cost of flights, hotel and new beachwear, I calculated I’d need several thousand pounds to spend a fortnight away in style.
At 51, I’m a successful woman earning a six-figure salary from my own wellness business, so I didn’t baulk at the price. But my boyfriend . . . I knew he couldn’t afford to come unless I paid.
Ben and I had been dating for six months and got on brilliantly. At the time, chemistry was all I thought about in a relationship.
I’d never dreamt of judging a man’s suitability via a peek at his bank balance. But I’m not shy about having money conversations, either, so I knew Ben’s job in IT earned him a salary of £30,000.
For Ben, ten years my junior, work was a means to enjoy surfing at weekends or rugged camping holidays in the summer.
He had zero career ambitions. I knew he would see it as odd if I went on holiday by myself. But I also couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating — for both of us — than me paying for him. In the end, I simply didn’t go.
It wasn’t the first time I’d changed my plans because he couldn’t keep up. If we went out for a meal with his family, he’d pick a cheap and cheerful all-you-can-eat place instead of the proper restaurants I love.
For weekends away, he’d hunt for the best value option, whereas I wanted comfort and an ensuite.When we split, not long afterwards, I had to be honest with myself: we hadn’t made it as a couple because the financial imbalance was just too much.
It was sad — but that moment opened my eyes. I’d been through grinding poverty and built my successful business through hard graft. But I’d never stopped to demand the same drive and inner fire in a man.
For far too long, women have been told it’s rude to talk about finances and greedy to appear interested in what a man earns.
It’s often assumed that a woman who asks about money is a gold-digger, someone who wants to glide on the coat-tails of a far wealthier man — but for me, it’s the opposite.
These days, I would never date a man who earns less than me . . . and I passionately believe no woman should.
In fact, I now routinely comb through a prospective date’s social media accounts, then check he works where he says he does by phoning his office reception and clarifying his position.
If he’s a business owner, I’ll confirm that’s the case with Companies House. It sounds extreme but it saves hassle and heartbreak knowing a man is solvent.
I’ve been frank with my female friends — most of them independently wealthy — and they have been really supportive. Some say they even took my advice.
I have warned my daughters — Ella, 22, and Yasmine, 18 — that whoever they build a life with must have the same income and financial mindset as them, and I think they see my point.
That might sound harsh or unfair, but it’s a philosophy I’ve developed from long and bitter experience.
Over the past five years, since starting my business, I’ve dated at least a dozen men who earned less than half what I did. And I’ve learned the hard way that being a sugar mummy is a thankless and deeply unsatisfying role.
I’ve worked for every penny I have, and I no longer want to share it with anyone who doesn’t understand that.
